


Paths Taken

by pyro07



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, South of Nowhere
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-21
Updated: 2012-12-29
Packaged: 2017-11-19 04:08:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/568914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyro07/pseuds/pyro07
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU Crossover of South of Nowhere and the 'A Song of Ice and Fire' series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own South of Nowhere nor do I own any right to 'A Song of Ice and Fire' or their characters. This is just a story with a mix blend of established characters and others I've inserted inside.
> 
> I started this story a long time ago and I think my writing style has changed since then. Hopefully the slow start doesn't put anyone off.

The morning air blew around the wall, forcing Spencer to pull her cloak closer to her body. She sighed and kept her vigilance, staring at the road which was slowly becoming lighter in the morning rays. Her father and brothers had spent the night by the Wall ensuring that the men there had supplies to last them partially through the harsh winter common in the North. She had watched as her father set off to behead a man who had tried to run away from his posting on the Wall. The man had allegedly broken down in whimpers and crazed murmurings of murderous ghosts then abandoned his post. Leaving your post at the wall was certain death. There weren’t enough men there as it was and volunteers were few and far to come by so once you joined they made sure you understood what you had sworn to do for the rest of your life. She knew her mother would not be happy with her spending most of the night looking out for her brothers but she couldn’t help it. They were family after all and if there was one thing Arthur Carlin had instilled in his children, it was that family came above all else. Off course her mother couldn’t complain too much as Spencer was sure Paula Carlin had spent most of the night looking out her window as well. Finally, the appearance of horses further down the road and Spencer could breathe a little easier. She gathered up her cloak and boots and headed out to the gate to meet her father and brothers as they approached their home. Spencer walked down the road breathing in the fresh, cool morning air oblivious to the woods that surrounded their home. The Carlins were forest men, the woods and the animals there were more friends than enemies.

Suddenly a shout broke out and Spencer watched as her younger brother Anthony led his horse off the road towards a slight clearing in the woods which led to the bank of a river. Spencer ran the last of the distance towards the commotion, hoping it was nothing too serious that Anthony had spotted. As she drew closer she could hear the excitement in his voice as he pointed out his discovery to his father. Spencer forced her way to the front of the group, missing the bemused faces of her older brothers, as she stood next to her father.

“Shouldn’t you be still asleep?” Arthur Carlin asked his daughter. Truth be told he hadn’t been surprised to see her heading down the road to meet them. She was always head-strong and brave, albeit sometimes she held herself as lady-like as possible. It amused him to no end but his wife didn’t always see the humor there.

“Father, you know I can’t sleep while you all are gone. Besides, I would’ve missed whatever Anthony’s found if I had stayed in with Mother” Spencer replied, smiling up at her father. The blonde then turned to face her brother’s discovery. Not too far from them, lying on the bank was a she-direwolf with what seemed like five new-born puppies. Direwolves were the emblem on the Carlin banner and thus were deeply respected by all those in the area. Seeing direwolves, however, was regarded as an omen of things to come and the expression on Arthur Carlin showed his silent musings on what his son had found.

“See Father? There. Can we keep them? There’s five of them on for each of us” Anthony exclaimed excitedly.

“Yes son but as you can see their mother doesn’t seem willing to give them up yet.” The mother direwolf looked as though she was slowly dying but seemed intent on keeping the perceived threat away from her children. Even as she drew her last breath she tried to remain standing and bared her teeth, daring anyone to come closer. The Carlins had always perceived that having a direwolf among them would keep away any danger and once Arthur Carlin had counted the number of puppies the she-wolf had he had already considered giving one to each of his children.

They all watched as the mother slowly lay down beside her children and passed on into the afterlife. Once they were sure that the wolf was dead, Glen stepped forward to claim on of the puppies as his own. Soon Clay followed with Anthony almost running beside him to pick their own as well. Spencer watched her brothers still a little unsure about the state of the mother.

“Aren’t you going to pick one for yourself?” Arthur Carlin asked quietly to his daughter. He watched as the determination crossed over his daughter’s face before she too headed towards the animals to pick her own. Arthur followed behind her to pick up the last one which would be for his other daughter, Kyla, who was probably still sleeping if his wife had not woke her up.

Spencer stared at the little bundle of fur in her arms. The pup she had picked was a deep brown with a white tipped tail. “Hmm what should I name you? It has to be something strong and brave because I know Glen will make fun of me if I give you a silly name.” She continued her musings as the group turned back onto the road towards the house. “I know. How about…Phantom?” As if in agreement, the pup whimpered and snuggled deeper into her arms. “Yes I’ll name you Phantom and you’ll be the best direwolf ever to come into the Carlin household.”  
\------------------------  
The day had gone by with all the Carlin children playing with their wolves. Kyla had squealed at the sight of her pup and had promptly named her Lady which brought snorts of laughter from her older brothers. Spencer had walked a little further into the yard so she could begin to train her pup but she decided to first feed it and herself. She was in the parlor trying to weasel some fruit from the cook when the horn sounded at the gate. That was the signal for incoming guests so Spencer abandoned her trial for food and headed to the yard to see who had come by their homestead.

Above her, in the main bedroom Paula Carlin sighed at the sound of the horn.

“I apologize Arthur but I still don’t like it. Why would Robert come all the way here if it wasn’t for a favor? And knowing him his favors will require you to travel away from Winterfell.”

Arthur stared at his wife. He understood her concerns and shared some of them but Robert was his king and his friend, he could not refuse Robert welcome at Winterfell and neither could he back down from anything Robert asked of him. “I know. Let’s just see what he wants. For all we know he could just be here to visit and hunt.” Seeing the skepticism on his wife’s face, Arthur rubbed his forehead tiredly. “Just bear with him for now? He is still our king and thus we need to obey him even if he asks the impossible.” He turned from his wife and headed down to great the visitors who were now filling his yard.

Arthur had done nothing to ease her concerns but Paula knew he was a just and good man. If Robert required his services, Arthur would not refuse him. Oblivious to all this Spencer stared wide-eyed at the new arrivals in her home not knowing, though, how much this visit would change her life forever.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own South of Nowhere nor do I own any right to 'A Song of Ice and Fire' or their characters. This is just a story with a mix blend of established characters and others I've inserted inside.

Her brother held up the gown for her. “This is beauty. Touch it. Go on. Caress the fabric.”

Ashley touched the fabric. It had been such a long time since she had felt anything so smooth or silky. It frightened her a little. “Is it really mine?”

“Off course. Magister Illyrio thought that you might want to wear something befitting a princess,” Nicholas said. He was high spirits today. “The color will bring out your eyes more and soon you shall have jewels and gold as well to go with you attire. Illyrio promised. Tonight though you must look like a princess so you must wear this.”

 _A princess_ , Ashley thought. Once upon a time maybe, far back in her memories, she remembers that she was once treated as a princess and dressed as such. Sometimes she forgot and it felt as though her brother was pretending still. “What does he want Nicholas?” Ashley and her brother had spent almost half a year living with the magister, eating his food and being pampered by his servants but Ashley learnt a long time ago that gifts such as these came with a price, and here in the free city of Pentos, that was no different.

“Illyrio is no fool,” Nicholas stated darkly. He was a gaunt, pale man with nervous fingers and his usually brown eyes had a feverish look to them. “He knows I will remember my friends when I come into my throne.”

Ashley sighed quietly. Everyday her brother spoke of his stolen throne and how he was going to get it back. She didn’t believe that though. Even though he told her every chance he got to never forget who he was, who they were, Ashley couldn’t help but feel that maybe he brother spent too much time in the past and not enough time in the present. He spoke of his future quite frequently but she doubted he had any substantial plans to regain his throne.

“Hurry up and get dressed. Illyrio has some guests over that he wants us to meet. I mean to get their assistance into forming my army so you need to look presentable and of your birth when we enter,” he stated, bringing her out of her thoughts. Nicholas then left to go prepare himself.

Ashley looked wistfully out of her window to the streets of Pentos. She could hear children playing and laughing just below her and the priests beginning their evening hymns as the light their night fires. For a moment she wished she could be out there, running around barefoot and breathless, with her clothes in tatters, and no past or future or a feast with Khal Drogo at his manse. Somewhere beyond the sunset, across the sea, lay her homeland according to her brother. Hills and valleys of green, rushing rivers, sunlight filtering through all below it, knights with their armor glinting in the sunshine, riding through to battles which would long be told after their deaths, a place of fairytales and dreams. In the Free Cities they spoke of these lands as Westeros and the Sunset Kingdoms. Her brother had a simpler name. “Our land,” he called it. He stated these words as if in prayer, as though if he said them enough the gods would surely hear him and answer him. “Ours by blood, taken from us by treachery but ours still now and forever. You do not steal from a dragon because a dragon never forgets.”And maybe a dragon did remember but Ashley only could now see vague shapes in her mind when she thought of their supposed home. She still dreamed though, hoping that one day her love would one day come and take her away to live in those kingdoms forever.

A knock at the door announced the arrival of one of the servants to help her prepare. The old woman came in with towels while a few other servants brought in her bath and hot water for her use. Ashley stepped into the bath and let the old woman bathe her. The woman washed out her long dark hair, which needs to be cut now she thought to herself, and gently combed out any knots, all in silence. She was then dressed and scented before her brother stepped back in to escort her to the feast.

He chattered the entire way of how this Khal Drogo was going to lend him his army as an alliance of sorts so that he could regain his throne once more. Ashley barely paid attention and only nodded or made the appropriate noises to keep her brother believing that’s he followed his dream too. As they drew closer to the manse, Ashley felt a chill go through her. All around their party were strange men with oiled, braided hair and hardly any clothing. She had heard some of the servants refer to these men as barbarians and she couldn’t help but fear for herself and her brother for dealing with these men. Magister Illyrio approached their party from the main door.

“She is a vision, Your Majesty’” he stated when he looked Ashley over. He grabbed her hand and kissed it.

“She’s far too skinny and doesn’t stand straight,” retorted Nicholas “but, all might still work out. Are you sure Khal Drogo likes his women young?”

“She is sixteen, no? She will do just fine,” Magister Illyrio told him, not for the first time. “Look at her. Those piercing, dark eyes, the dark hair. She is of Valyrian blood most definitely…and the daughter of the last king, the sister to the future king, he will be enchanted.” When he released her hand, Ashley trembled.

“I suppose…they do have queer tastes. Boys, horses, sheep…” Nicholas countered.

“You best not let Khal Drogo hear that, Your Grace,” said Magister Illyrio.

They entered the main manse as they were announced and were placed not too far from a tall, dark barbarian who Ashley assumed was Khal Drogo. His braid of hair fell to below his waist, almost to his thighs. Ashley looked at his face. His eyes were cold and hard and they scared her. Nicholas hurt her sometimes, when she awoke the dragon in him, but even his eyes didn’t compare to this man’s. In fact, all the men surrounding them scared her. She wasn’t sure why her brother was dealing with men when clearly, they would kill them without any hesitations. She began to tremble again. This was not how she wanted her night to go.

Her brother’s words filtered through her mind again. “I won’t need all his men, just enough to rid the West of the Usurper’” Nicholas stated, fingering the hilt of his sword. “Just ten thousand  would be enough and the realm would rejoice as their rightful king to his kingdom back. The people are crying out for their king…aren’t they Illyrio?” Nicholas turned to face the magister anxiously.

“They are your people Your Grace,” replied the man amiably “they still toast and drink to your health in secret places in fear of the wrath of the Usurper but they do still cry out for you.” He shrugged “Or so my agents tell me.”

Ashley had no agents or any way of knowing if this man was telling the truth so she and her brother had to believe his words but she mistrusted Illyrio’s words and everything else about him. She did not voice her opinions out aloud thought, her brother would not like it. The two men continued their conversation around Ashley as she once again stared at the Khal.

“I must go make my submissions and bring the Khal to you,” stated Ilyrio as he stood up.

“Do you see him sister? Do you see the length of his braid?” Nicholas whispered to Ashley as he tightened his hand around hers, so much that it began to hurt. They followed Illyrio towards the Khal as Nicholas continued to whisper.

“They say that when the Dothraki are defeated they cut of their braid in shame. Khal Drogo has never lost a fight that is why his braid is so long. He is Aegon the Dragonlord come again and you shall be his queen.”

Ashley paled at his words. _His queen_. ‘I don’t want to be his queen,” she replied in a small desperate voice. “Please, _please,_ Nicholas, I don’t want that, I want to go home now.”

“ _Home?_ ” He replied in barely concealed fury. “How can we go home when our home was taken from us!” He pulled them into the shadows so no one could hear their argument. ‘ _How do we go home?_ ” He asked meaning King’s Landing and all the realm they had lost.

Ashley had meant their rooms at Illyrio’s estate but her brother did not want to hear that. His fingers dug into her arm and he ignored her whimpers of pain, demanding her answer. “I don’t…I don’t know” she replied, her voice shaking and tears beginning in her eyes.

“I know,” he spat out. “You will become his queen. Wed him and bed him if that is what is required.” He smiled at her “ I’d let his whole army fuck you if that was what was needed, sweet sister, all forty thousand of them and their horses if that was what was called for in order for me to gain my army. Be thankful it’s only Drogo. In time you may even learn to like him. Now stop crying. He is on his way here with Illyrio and he will not see you crying.”

Ashley turned and saw Magister Illyrio heading towards him with the Khal behind him. She wiped away any fallen tears from her face with the back of her hand.

“Smile,” Nicholas whispered quickly, his hand falling to his sword. “And stand straight. Let him see that you are a woman. Gods know, your breasts are small enough as it is.”

Ashley smiled and stood up straight.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own South of Nowhere nor do I own any right to 'A Song of Ice and Fire' or their characters. This is just a story with a mix blend of established characters and others I've inserted inside.

Spencer walked along the castle walls after the feast King Robert had called. He seemed to have many of those for whatever reason, he would wake up in the morning and call for a feast. Spencer, Kyla and Arthur Carlin had moved to King’s Landing after Robert had requested that Arthur become his Hand. She remembered hearing her mother’s distress and disapproval to this one night, and since they had arrived here she now understood why. Anthony was also to join them but an accident which crippled him kept Paula, Glen and Clay at Winterfell. He had been playing on the rooftops again, even though he had been told countless times not to, and he had fallen. When they had left, he had been delirious, speaking of ravens and strange deeds. Shaking her head of these thoughts, Spencer’s mind wandered to her own reasons for being at King’s Landing. It seemed as though the king had seen fit to match her with his oldest son, Aiden and her sister to the next in line to the throne. Her father had not been pleased at all upon hearing this news and so, to appease him, the king had stated that this marriage would only happen once he was dead, to which he had laughed heartily. Spencer herself had been horrified. She had observed Aiden when they had come to Winterfell and she had hated him. He was obnoxious, arrogant, malicious and stubborn, traits which seemed to stem from his mother, the queen. Kyla had voiced her disbelief when Spencer had told her of her thoughts. Kyla viewed Aiden as exactly what a king should be handsome, brave, really just all fairytale notions. Spencer hoped her sister would step out of her dreams one day.

She reached her chambers that she shared with her sister as ladies-in-waiting for the Queen. Climbing into her bed she fell into her sleep easily after the exhaustion of the day. The king had decided to hold a tournament before his feast as if to prove he still was the soldier he once was, when anyone could tell from the size of his stomach that he was no longer the great warrior that defeated the Dragonlord and claimed Westeros and beyond and his kingdom. He had expected her to sit next to her betrothed and Spencer had spent most of the day and night smiling politely and trying not to cringe outwardly at Aiden’s wandering hands. She thought her back was going to give up due to the strain she had placed on it to prevent her from shifting away from the idiot. Those were her last thoughts as her body sunk more into her bed and sleep claimed her.

_Sunlight forced her out of her sleep. Spencer took a deep breath and could smell the sea nearby. This thought immediately woke her up. There was no sea at King’s Landing, only a river. Her heartbeat raced as she took in her surroundings. To one side was the sea, to the other vast green fields as far as she could see. Then she noticed a figure seemingly walking towards her. As the figure drew closer she could make out long, dark hair which the wind blew behind the girl. She seemed to glow slightly as if she were on fire. Spencer was scared. Where was she and who was this girl? The girl drew closer still and Spencer felt her chest constrict. This was the possibly the most beautiful girl she had ever seen. Her dark skin, darker than Spencer’s, her even darker eyes, the strength within each leg and arm and the fire she could feel flowing all around her almost brought Spencer to her knees. Even more surprising the girl continued past Spencer as if she hadn’t seen her, her attention fully on the sea beside her. She continued walking away from Spencer, further down the beach. “Wait!” Spencer called out._

“Spencer.”

“Spencer!”

“What?” cried Spencer as she was roused from her sleep.

“Queen Cersei has requested our presence,” her sister replied.                                                           

Looking around her Spencer realized that it was still night. “Now? But it is not even light?”

“I know but she insisted we come right away,” responded Kyla.

The girls changed and immediately set out to meet the queen, following one of the queen’s men who had been assigned to escorting them. The request by the queen so late at night worried Spencer. Cersei seemed to despise them and yet here she was calling them late into the evening to her chambers. Spencer did not fear any foul play however. Her father had insisted his daughters keep their wolves even though they were now at court. He always said that a direwolf would always warn its master of treachery and he insisted that his children keep their wolves close by at all times. Phantom had been agitated ever since they arrived at King’s Landing but Spencer had put it down to unfamiliar surroundings. Her father though, had looked at the wolf with a strange look when she had begun growling but he had never mentioned anything about it.

Spencer’s mind raced. Her thoughts were on the girl in her dream but she had no idea who or where she had been. It had puzzled her to no end. All she knew was that whoever the girl had been, she had enchanted Spencer in a way she had never thought possible. Yet, she had passed by as if Spencer was not even there. Maybe she had not been, maybe this all her imagination and nothing was real but…she had hoped it was real, there was something about that girl she just could not place.

“Her Grace is waiting for you,” the knight mumbled gruffly to the sisters.

The two girls entered the chambers slowly. When they saw the queen they quickly curtsied until she called them closer.

“Good. He managed to find you. I am truly sorry for waking you up at such an hour but it was important for me to speak to you now, as women first then tomorrow we shall tell others,” Cersei stated, smiling at the two girls before her.

“Tell the others what Your Grace?” Kyla asked curiously.

“That I’ve decided to move forward Spencer and Aiden’s marriage off course,” was the reply.

Kyla squealed happily while Spencer paled before regaining her composure. She had hoped she would somehow return to Winterfell before this day but now there really was no hope for her.

 “Are you not happy with the news dear?” Cersei asked when she had noticed Spencer’s loss of control.

“No, Your Highness. I was just surprised. I had assumed we would be betrothed once he became king,” Spencer replied hastily.

“Well that was Robert’s intention but I think there is no need for that is there? I have seen how Aiden dotes on you so we might as well let the two of you have the freedom to do as you please, do you not think so?”

“Yes but off course,” replied Spencer, internally screaming at the thought. “It would be…a dream come true.”

“Wonderful. You may return to your chambers now and we will inform your father tomorrow,” Cersei spread her arms to embrace the two girls. “Welcome to the House of Baretheon.”

She watched as the two girls left for the chambers before a figure stepped out of the shadows.

“She does not seem to keen on the idea of marrying young Aiden, Cersei.”

Cersei scoffed “She will do well for Aiden. Polite, well-mannered, composed and most of all beautiful. He will be the envy of many men. Even so, I do not actually care. This is to make sure that father of hers does not try to dig any further than he has. He would never risk his children’s safety so the sooner this is done the better.”

“As you say, Your Grace. I shall leave you for the evening now so you can get some rest.”

Cersei waved him out with her hands. She smiled and went to bed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own South of Nowhere nor do I own any right to 'A Song of Ice and Fire' or their characters. This is just a story with a mix blend of established characters and others I've inserted inside.

Ashley Targaryen wed Khal Drogo in splendor, even though she was afraid. They married in a field just beyond the walls of Pentos for the Dothraki believed that the most important things that happen in a man’s life should be done beneath the sky.

The ceremony started in the morning and continued until dusk, an endless day of drinking and feasting and fighting. An earthen ramp had been constructed among the various Dothraki manses and that was where Ashley was seated beside Khal Drogo, above a boisterous crowd of Dothraki warriors. Fear ran through Ashley at regular intervals as she had never seen so many strange and frightening people all in one place. They gorged themselves on horseflesh roasted with honey and peppers, drank themselves blind on fermented mare’s milk and Illyrio’s wines, and taunted each other across the fires, their voices harsh and alien to Ashley’s ears.

Nicholas sat just below her, dressed in a new black wool tunic with a scarlet dragon on the chest. Illyrio and Ser Jorah, an exiled knight who had joined them, sat beside him. Their seats where places of high honor, just below the khal’s own bloodriders, but Ashley could see the anger in Nicholas’ eyes. He did not like sitting beneath her, and he fumed when the slaves would offer the khal and his bride each dish first then served him from the portions they had refused. He could do nothing but nurse his resentment, so nurse it he did with his mood growing blacker by the hour at each insult to his person.

Ashley had never felt so alone before as she sat in the midst of the horde. Her brother had told her to smile, so she did until her face ached and the tears cam unbidden to her eyes. She did her best to hide them in case Nicholas should see them, knowing how angry he would be if he saw the tears, terrified of how her new husband would react if he saw them. There was no one to talk to. Khal Drogo shouted commands and jests to his bloodriders and laughed at their replies but he scarcely glanced at Ashley. They had no common language. She would have even welcomed the conversation of Illyrio and her brother but they were too far below her to hear her anyway. So she sat in her wedding silks, nursing a cup of honeyed wine, afraid to eat, talking silently to herself. _I am blood of the dragon,_ she told herself. _I am Ashley Stormborn, Princess of Dragonstone, of the blood and seed of Aegon the Conqueror._

The sun was only a quarter of the way up the sky when she saw her first man die. Drums were beating as some women danced for the khal. Drogo watched without any expression but his eyes followed their movements, and from time to time he would toss down a bronze medallion which the women would fight over. The warriors were watching too. One of them finally stepped into the circle and grabbed a dancer by the arm, pushed her down and mounted her right there, as a stallion would mount a mare. Illyrio had warned her of this but it did not defer Ashley from looking away at the coupling. A second, then a third warrior stepped forward and soon there was no way she could avoid the scene in front of her. Two men then seized the same woman. She heard a shout, saw a shove and in the blink of an eye, the men began a dance of swords. No one made a move to interfere. It ended as quickly as it had begun. A slight mistake by one man and the other capitalized and killed him. Slaves carried off the body and the dancing resumed. Magister Illyrio had warned Ashley of this as well. “A Dothraki wedding without at least three deaths is deemed a dull affair,” he had said. Her wedding must have been especially blessed, before the day was over, a dozen men had died.

When the sun at last was low in the sky, Khal Drogo clapped his hands together, and the drums and the shouting and feasting came to a sudden halt. Drogo stood and pulled Ashley to her feet beside him. It was time for her bride gifts. After her gifts, she knew, once the sun had gone down, it would be the time for the first ride and the consummation of the marriage. Ashley tried to push that particular thought aside but it would not leave her mind. She hugged herself to keep from shaking and showing her fear outright. Her brother gifted her with three handmaids which she knew had cost him nothing as Illyrio had no doubt provided the girls. Two were copper-skinned Dothraki with black hair and almond-shaped eyes while the third was a fair-haired, green-eyed Lysene girl. “These are no common servant girls, sister,” her brother had stated as he presented each girl forward. “Illyrio and I selected them personally. Irri will teach you to ride, Jhiqui the Dothraki tongue, and Doreah will instruct you in the womanly arts of love.” He smiled thinly. “She’s very good, Illyrio and I can attest to that.” Ser Jorah had apologized for his gift as he had deemed it small and all an exile could afford. He had presented her a small stack of old books, histories and songs of the Seven Kingdoms which were written in the Common Tongue. She thanked him with all her heart. Magister Illyrio had murmured a command and four burly slaves had hurried forward with a great cedar chest. Inside Ashley found piles of the finest velvets and silks, and nestled on top, three huge eggs. They were the most beautiful things she had ever seen, each different from the other. The surface of the egg she had lifted to see was covered in tiny scales which shimmered like polished metal in the sun. One egg was a deep green with burnished bronze flecks, another was pale cream streaked with gold and the last, black as a midnight sea with scarlet ripples and swirls. “What are they?” she asked in awe.

“Dragon’s eggs from the Shadow Lands beyond Asshai,” said Magister Illyrio. “A perfect gift for one of the dragon no?” At last, Khal Drogo brought forth his own gift to his bride. A silence filled the khalasar. He stepped forward with a young filly, spirited and splendid. Ashley knew enough about horses to know that this was no ordinary horse. There was something about the animal that took her breath away. The filly was grey with a mane like silver smoke. Ashley reached out slowly and stroked the horse’s neck before murmuring “She’s beautiful.” Drogo stepped towards her and lifted her by the waist onto the horse. Ashley nervously gathered the reins in her hands and lightly tapped the filly with her knees. And for the first time in hours, she forgot to be afraid.

When she returned her fear returned with her as the last sliver of the sun set, indicating that Ashley had lost track of time. As the khal was saddling his own horse, Nicholas slid close to Ashley on her silver, dug his fingers into her leg, and said, “Please him sweet sister, or I swear you will see the dragon wake as it has never woken before.” They rode out together and drove their horses hard. Khal Drogo said nothing the entire distance and when they finally stopped, tears were falling freely down Ashley’s eyes. Khal Drogo gently lifted her off the horse and set her down on a rounded rock near a stream. He sat on the ground, facing her, and wiped away her tears. He pointed to his braid and to Ashley, indicating that he wanted her to undo his braid. This took a long time and all the while he sat silently, watching her. Once she was done he began to undress her. His fingers were deft and strangely tender. He removed every piece of clothing, leaving Ashley feeling bare and insecure. He sat down on the rock and pulled Ashley onto his lap where he began to slowly touch her, in order to get her to relax. After what seemed like hours he finally stopped, leaving Ashley feeling flushed and breathing hard. He cupped her face in his huge hands and waited for her approval. She took his hand and moved it down to the wetness between her thighs. She nodded silently to him as she put his finger inside her.

“The Dothraki sea,” Ser Jorah Mormont said as he reined to a halt beside her on top of the ridge. Beneath them, the plain stretched out immense and empty, as far as they could see. It _was_ a sea, Ashley thought. The phrase brought last night’s dream to the forefront of her mind. She had been walking along a beach, something which she had been dreaming of for a few weeks now. This time though, she had noticed a girl in front of her. The girl looked nothing like the Dothraki women she was surrounded by. She was blonde and had the most shocking color of blue in her eyes. Those eyes had stilled her and she had just stared. The girl had opened her mouth to speak but Ashley had been ripped out of her dreams by her brother’s demand to see the khal just outside her manse. Those blue eyes had haunted her morning. Ashley set on forgetting them, she would never meet the girl out here. Her musings were interrupted by voices behind them. She and Mormont had outdistanced the rest of their party, and now the others were climbing the ridge to join them. Her handmaid, Irri, and the young archers of her khas were fluid as centaurs, but Nicholas still struggled with the short stirrups and the flat saddle, he was miserable. He should have never come. Magister Illyrio had suggested for him to wait in Pentos but Nicholas would have none of it. He would stay with Drogo until the debt had been paid, until he had the crown he had been promised. “And if he tries to cheat me, he will learn to his sorrow what it means to wake the dragon,” Nicholas had vowed, laying a hand on his borrowed sword. Illyrio had blinked at that and wished him good fortune.

The ride at first had not come easy to Ashley, just as like her brother. The khalasar had broken camp the morning after the wedding, moving east towards Vaes Dothraki, and by the third day Ashley thought she was going to die. Saddle sores opened on her bottom, her thighs were chafed raw, her hands blistered from the reins and the muscles in her legs and back would be so painful that she could scarcely sit. Her handmaids would help her down from her mount when the sun set. Even the nights had no relief. Drogo ignored her during the ride and spent his evenings drinking with his riders yet every night, some time before dawn, Drogo would enter her tent and wake her in the dark to ride her relentlessly as he rode his stallion. He always took her from behind, the Dothraki way, which Ashley preferred as she could hide her tears and cries of pain in her pillow. When he was done he would roll over and begin to snore softly while Ashley would lie beside him, too sore and bruised to sleep. Day after day and every night the trend continued until she could endure no longer. She would kill herself rather than go on, she decided one night. That night, as she slept, she dreamt of the dragon again and this time Nicholas was not there. Its scales were black as night, wet and slick with blood. _Her_ blood, Ashley sensed. Its eyes were pools of molten magma and when it opened its mouth, the flame came roaring out in a hot jet. She could hear it singing to her and she opened her arms to embrace it. She could feel her flesh burning, sear and blacken and slough away, her blood boil and turn to steam and yet there was no pain. Then she would feel a hand gently stroking through her hair as if lulling her to sleep. She would hear a voice above the roar of the dragon and the heat and flame would melt away, becoming cool grass beside a steady stream. She would feel completely at ease, safe and content. Turning her face and opening her eyes, she would see those blue eyes again, calling to her. Then she awoke, feeling strong and new and fierce.

The next day, strangely, she did not seem to hurt quite so much. It was if the gods had heard her and taken pity. That night, when Khal Drogo came, Ashley was waiting for him. He had stood at the tent door and looked at her in surprise. She rose slowly and let her sleeping silks fall. “This night we must go outside, my lord,” she told him, for the Dothraki believed that all things of importance in a man’s life must be done under the open sky. Khal Drogo followed her into the moonlight and when he tried to turn her over she had out a hand on his chest. “No,” she said. “This night I would look on your face.” His eyes were the only ones that mattered and she saw something in them she had never seen before. She rode him as fiercely as she had ever ridden her silver, and when his moment of pleasure came, Khal Drogo called out her name. When he had come to, he had brushed the soft swell of her stomach with his fingers and looked at her. She had smiled slightly and whispered “I know.” It had been her seventeenth name day.

Nicholas came upon her suddenly, his horse rearing beneath him as he reined in too hard. “You _dare_!” he screamed at her. “You give commands to _me?_ _To me?_ ” he vaulted off his horse, stumbling as he landed. His face was flushed as he struggled to his feet again. He grabbed her, shook her. “Have you forgotten who you are? Look at you. _Look at you!_ ” Ashley did not look. She knew how she looked, barefoot, oiled hair, wearing Dothraki riding leathers and a painted vest given to her as a wedding gift. She looked as if she belonged. Nicholas was soiled and stained in his city silk and ringmail. He was till screaming. “You do _not_ command the dragon. So you understand? I am the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, I will not hear orders from some horselord’s slut, do you hear me?” his hand went under her vest, his fingers digging painfully into her breast. “ _Do you hear me?_ ” Ashley shoved him hard and he stumbled again. Nicholas stared at her in shock. She had never defied him, never fought back. Rage twisted his features, he would hurt her now, and badly, she knew that.

 _Crack_. The whip took Nicholas around the throat and yanked him backward. He went sprawling in the grass, stunned and chocking. The Dothraki riders hooted at him as he tried to free himself. The one with the whip, young Jhogo, rasped out “Would you have him dead khaleesi?”

“No,” Ashley replied. “No.”

One of the others barked out a comment which was spoken too fast for Ashley to understand. Irri translated for her, “Quaro thinks you should take an ear to teach him respect.”

“I do not wish him harmed,” Ashley stated as she watched her brother crying incoherently, struggling for breath.

Jhogo gave a pull on the whip, yanking Nicholas around like a puppet on a string. He went sprawling again, freed from the leather coil, a thin line of blood under his chin where the whip had cut him.

“I warned him what would happen, my lady,” Ser Mormont stated. “I told him to stay on the ridge, as you commanded.”

“I know you did,” Ashley replied watching her brother. He lay on the ground, sucking in air noisily, red-faced and sobbing. He was a pitiful thing, he always had been. Why had she never seen this before? There was a hollow place inside her where her fear had been. “Take his horse,” Ashley commanded. “Let my brother walk behind us back to the khalasar.” Among the Dothraki, a man who does not ride was no man at all, the lowest of the low, without honor or pride, which was why Nicholas was gaping at her. “Let everyone see him as he is.”

“ _No!_ ” Nicholas screamed. He turned to Ser Mormont and spoke in Common Tongue. “Hit her Mormont. Hurt her. Your king commands it. Kill these Dothraki dogs and teach her.”

The exile knight looked from Ashley to her brother; she barefoot, with dirt between her toes and oil in her hair, he with his silks and steel. “He shall walk khaleesi,” he said. He took Nicholas’ horse in hand while Ashley remounted hers and their party rode ahead of him, leaving him behind in the tall grass.

When they could not see him anymore Ashley grew afraid. “Will he find his way back?” she asked Ser Jorah as they rode.

“Even a man as blind as he should be able to follow our trail,” he replied.

“I hit him,” she said, wonder in her voice. Now that it was over, it seemed like a strange dream. “Ser Jorah, do you think…he’ll be so angry when he gets back…” she shivered. “I have woken the dragon, haven’t I?”

Ser Jorah snorted. “Can you wake the dead, girl? Your brother Rhaegar was the last dragon, and he died on the Trident. Nicholas is less than a shadow of a snake.”

“He is still the true king. He is…” Ashley began.

Jorah pulled up his horse and looked at her. “Truth now. Would you want to see Nicholas sit on the throne?”

Ashley thought about that. “He would not be a very good king, would he?”

“There have been worse…but not many.” The knight gave his heels to his mount and started off again.

Ashley rode close to him. “Still,” she said, “the common people are waiting for him. Magister Illyrio says they are sewing banners and praying for Nicholas to return from across the narrow sea to free them.”

“The common people pray for rain, healthy children, and a summer that never ends,” Ser Jorah told her. “It is no matter to them if the high lords play their game of thrones, so long as they are left in peace.” He gave a shrug. “They never are.”

Ashley rode along quietly as his words began to fit in her head like a puzzle. It went against everything Nicholas had ever told her to think. Yet the more she thought about it, the more she realized how true Jorah’s words were. “What do you pray for, Ser Jorah?” she asked him after some time.

“Home,” he said. His voice was thick with longing.

“I pray for home too,” she told him, believing it.

Ser Jorah laughed. “Look around you then, khaleesi.”

But it was not the plains Ashley saw then. It was King’s Landing and the great Red Keep that Aegon the Conqueror had built. It was Dragonstone where she had been born. In her mind’s eye they burned with a thousand lights, a fire blazing in every window. In her mind’s eye all the doors were red. One in particular, always led her to the same place. A quiet voice, a soft hand and sea-blue eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own South of Nowhere nor do I own any right to 'A Song of Ice and Fire' or their characters. This is just a story with a mix blend of established characters and others I've inserted inside.

The morning light broke through the tent, rousing Spencer from her sleep. She sat up and looked around forgetting for a minute where she was. Her mind let her know soon enough though. Every thought and action invaded her senses. She could almost feel the cold night air again. Shaking her head to rid herself of those memories she stood to prepare for her day. She had been with this camp for at least seven days now. They had scared her at first. They still did. Anything was better than what she had been running from though even these wild and fierce people. Stepping outside, she looked around and headed towards her first chore of the day. Her life was harder now but she was thankful her mother had never raised them to be ungrateful or spoilt. Thinking of her memory brought fresh tears but she did not let them drop. There was nothing she could do now except bide her time and hope that she would see them again one day. She began washing the linen, concentrating on her task so that her mind would not torment her again.

_Spencer began to move back inside when she heard the voice but was stopped by the strange tone of the voice inside._

_“I do not like it,” a woman was saying. “You should be the Hand.”_

_“Gods forbid,” a man’s voice replied lazily. “It’s not an honor I’d want. There’s far too much work involved.”_

_Spencer stepped closer to the window that looked into the room. The voices carried onto the balcony._

_“Don’t you see the danger this puts us in?” the woman said. “Robert loves the man like a brother.”_

_“Robert can barely stomach his brothers. Not that I blame him. Stannis would be enough to give anyone indigestion.”_

_“Don’t play the fool. Stannis and Renly are one thing and Arthur Carlin is quite another. Robert will **listen** to Carlin. Damn them both. I should have **insisted** that he name you, but I was certain Carlin would refuse him.”_

_“We ought to count ourselves fortunate,” the man said. “The king might as easily have named one of his brothers, or Littlefinger, gods help us. Give me honorable enemies rather than ambitious ones and I’ll sleep more easily at night.”_

_They were talking about her father, Spencer realized. She had been prepared to slip away quietly once she realized the conversation was not meant for her ears but once her father was mentioned she could not move. A few more feet and she might be able to see who they were._

_“We will have to watch him carefully,” the woman said._

_“I would sooner watch you,” the man said. He sounded bored. “Come back here.”_

_“Do you think the king will require proof once Carlin whispers in his ear?” the woman said. “I tell you, he loves me not.”_

_“And whose fault is that, sweet sister?” the man sighed. “You should think less about the future and more about the pleasures at hand.”_

_“Stop that!” the woman said. Spencer heard the sudden slap of flesh on flesh, then the man’s laughter._

_“All this talk is getting very tiresome, sister,” the man said. “Come here and be quiet.”_

_Spencer looked into the window. She **had** to know who was plotting against her father. As soon as she could she would tell him of this and persuade him to return them to Winterfell. This place was no place for any Carlin. Her mother had been right._

_Inside the room, a man and a woman were wrestling. They were both naked. Spencer could not tell who they were. The man’s back was to her, and his body screened the woman from view as he pushed her up against a wall. There were soft, sounds. Spencer realized they were kissing. She watched, wide-eyed and frightened, her breath tight in her throat as she strained not to make a sound. The man had a hand down between her legs, and he must have been hurting her there, because the woman started to moan, low in her throat._

_“Stop it,” she said, “stop it, stop it. Oh, **please** …” But her voice was low and weak, and she did not push him away. Her hands buried themselves in his hair, his tangled golden hair, and pulled his face down to her breast._

_Spencer saw her face. Her eyes were closed and her mouth was open, moaning. Her golden hair swung from side to side as her head moved back and forth, but still she recognized the queen. The man in front of her, Spencer shook with shock, looked just like her._

_“Spencer.”_

_“Father? What…what are you doing here?”_

_“Gather your belongings. I have already woken your sister. You need to leave.”_

_“Why? And where will you be?”_

_“Spencer! No more questions. Just obey me and pack.”_

_“Spencer is father going to be safe?”_

_“I do not know Kyla. He would not have urged us to leave unless something had gone terribly wrong.”_

_“Where is he? He should have come now.”_

_Wrapping an arm around her sister in comfort Spencer answered quietly, “He will come. We just have to be patient.”_

_“It seems as though the king has died and the queen is after the Hand, Arthur Carlin.”_

_“I still do not see why we should be looking for two little girls. What can they do?”_

_“They can escape and inform their brother. Once he knows of the queen’s intentions, he shall surely try and stop her. If he fails then it will be war.”_

_“At least we shall have the opportunity of seeing Carlin hang on the gallows.”_

_Spencer raised her arm to stop the gasp she knew would come from Kyla’s mouth. Her own eyes were wide with shock as she realized they danger and the treachery that was now in the city._

_“Let us find another one. We have searched, drank and whored enough here. If we do not we could be punished for our lack of steel to find the Carlin girls.”_

_“Not even their creatures have been seen. Nevertheless we should move on.”_

_“Spencer please,”_

_“Kyla you have to. I promise I’ll come to you as soon as I can. Someone needs to warn Glen and the rest of Winterfell. If they catch both of us then Father…” she hesitated, “Father would have died for nothing so you **need** to go.”_

_“Promise me you **will** return to Winterfell. Promise me.”_

_“I promise Kyla. Now go and be brave for me. I shall see you soon.”_

Spencer rubbed furiously at her temple willing the thoughts to vanish at least for an hour, instead of tormenting her as they usually did. She focused even more into her washing not realizing that she was being watched, and willed the tears and frustration to leave her in peace.

Brown eyes surveyed the camp once more. The siege of Calos had not lasted as long as she had once thought. Her bloodriders had been quick and ruthless, as she had taught them, leaving no risks or traitorous thoughts in the minds of their prisoners. They would need to move soon. She still wanted the element of surprise to be with her before Robert heard of her coming. Her khal benefited from this. It gave them rest and time to heal while no one could alert anyone of their presence. Those cities she had conquered supplied her men and slaves strengthening her army each step. Soon she would cross the river to the Western cities and reclaim her throne.

_“ **My lady** ,” the handmaid whispered urgently, “your brother…”_

_Ashley looked down the length of the long roofless, hall and there he was, striding towards her. From the lurch in his step, she could tell at once that Nicholas had found his wine…and something that passed for courage. He was wearing his scarlet silks, soiled and travel-stained. His cloak and gloves were black velvet, faded from the sun.  His boots were dry and cracked, his dark hair matted and tangled. A longsword swung from his belt in a leather scabbard. The Dothraki eyed his sword as he passed; Ashley heard curses and threats and angry mutterings rising all around her, like a tide. The music died away in a nervous stammering of drums. Ashley glanced anxiously up at the high bench. Khal Drogo was saying something to the other khals beside him. Khal Jommo grinned, and Khal Ogo began to guffaw loudly._

_The sound of laughter made Nicholas lift his eyes. “Khal Drogo,” he said thickly, his voice almost polite. “I’m here for the feast.” He staggered away from Ser Jorah, making to join the three khals on the high bench._

_Khal Drogo rose, spat out a dozen words in Dothraki, faster than Ashley could understand, and pointed. “Khal Drogo says your place is not on the high bench,” Ser Jorah translated for her brother. “Khal Drogo says your place is there.”_

_Nicholas glanced where the khal was pointing. At the back of the long hall, in a corner by the wall, deep in shadow so better men would not have to look on them, sat the lowest of the low; raw unblooded boys, old men with clouded eyes and stiff joints, the dim-witted and the maimed. Far from the meat and farther from honor. “That is no place for a king,” her brother declared._

_“Is place,” Khal Drogo answered, in the Common Tongue that Ashley had taught him, “for Sorefoot King.” He clapped his hands together. “A cart! Bring cart for Khal Rhaggat!”_

_Five thousand Dothraki began to laugh and shout. Ser Jorah shouted something in his ear but Ashley could not hear what he said through the noise. Her brother shouted back and the two men grappled until Mormont knocked Nicholas bodily to the floor._

_Her brother drew his sword._

_Ashley gave a wordless cry of terror. She knew what a drawn sword meant here, even if her brother did not._

_Her voice made Nicholas turn his head, and he saw her for the first time. “There she is,” he said smiling. He stalked forward toward her, slashing at the air as if to cut a path through a wall of enemies, though no one tried to bar his way._

_“The blade…you must not,” she begged him. “Please Nicholas. It is forbidden. Put down the sword and come share my cushions. There’s drink, food…is it the dragon’s eggs you want? You can have them, only throw away the sword.”_

_“Do as she tells you, fool,” Ser Jorah shouted, “before you get us all killed.”_

_Nicholas laughed. “They can’t kill us. They can’t shed blood here in the sacred city…but **I** can.” He laid the point of his sword between Ashley’s breasts and slid it downward, over the curve of her belly. “I want what I came for,” he told her. “I want the crown he promised me. He bought you, but he never paid for you. Tell him I want what I bargained for, or I’m taking you back. You and the eggs both. He can keep his bloody foal. I’ll cut the bastard out and leave it for him.” The sword point pushed through her silks and pricked at her navel. Nicholas was weeping, she saw; weeping and laughing, both at the same time, this man who had once been her brother._

_Khal Drogo spoke a few brusque sentences in Dothraki, and she knew he had heard her quiet words. “What did he say?” the man who had been her brother asked her, flinching._

_It had grown so silent in the hall that she could hear the bells in Khal Drogo’s hair, chiming softly with each step he took. His bloodriders followed him, like three copper shadows. Ashley had gone cold all over. “He says you shall have a splendid golden crown that men shall tremble to behold.”_

_Nicholas smiled  and lowered his sword. That was the saddest thing, the thing that tore at her afterward…the way he smiled. “That was all I wanted,” he said. “What was promised.”_

_Khal Drogo unfastened his belt. He shouted a command, cook slaves pulled a heavy iron stew pot from the firepit, dumped the stew onto the ground, and returned the pot to the flames while his bloodriders leapt forward and restrained Nicholas. Even then he did not understand. He screamed his outrage and struggled against the Dothraki men. Drogo tossed in the pure gold belt, with ornaments as large as a man’s hand, into the pot and watched without expression as the medallion turned red and began to lose their shape. Ashley could see fires dancing in the onyx of his eyes. A slave handed him a pair of thick horse hair mittens, and he pulled them on, never so much as looking at the man._

_Nicholas began to scream the high, wordless scream of the coward facing death. He kicked and twisted, whimpered like a dog and wept like a child, but the Dothraki held him tight between them. Ser Jorah made his way to Ashley. “Turn away, my princess, I beg you.”_

_“No.” She folded her arms across the swell of her belly, protectively._

_At last Nicholas looked at her. “Sister, please…Ashley, tell them…make them…sweet sister…”_

_When the gold was half-melted and starting to run, Drogo reached into the flames, snatched out the pot. “Crown!” he roared. “Here. A crown for a Cart King!” And upended the pot over the head of the man who had been her brother._

_The sound of Nicholas Targaryen made when that hideous iron helmet covered his face was like nothing human. His feet hammered a frantic beat against the dirt floor, slowed, stopped. Thick globs of molten gold dripped down onto his chest setting the scarlet silk to smoldering…yet no drop of blood was spilled._

**_He was no dragon,_ ** _Ashley thought, curiously calm. **Fire cannot kill a dragon**._

_“The khal lives,” Irri answered quietly…yet Ashley saw a darkness in her eyes when she said the words, and no sooner had she spoken then she rushed away to fetch water._

_She turned to Doreah. “Tell me.”_

_“I…I shall bring Ser Jorah,” the Lysene girl said bowing her head and fleeing the tent,_

_Jhiqui would have run as well, but Ashley caught her by the wrist and held her captive. “What is it? I must know. Drogo…and my child.” Why had she not remembered the child until now? “My son…Rhaego…where is he? I want him.”_

_Her handmaid lowered her eyes. “The boy…he did not live Khaleesi” Her voice was a frightened whisper_

_Ashley prayed and whispered and told him stories. Yet Drogo did not feel, or speak, or rise._

_Inside the tent Ashley found a cushion, soft silk stuffed with feathers. She clutched it to her breasts as she walked back out to Drogo, to her sun-and-stars. **If I look back I am lost**. It hurt even to walk, and she wanted to sleep, to sleep and not dream._

_She knelt, kissed Drogo on the lips, and pressed the cushion down across his face_

_When the fire died at last and the ground became cool enough to walk, Ser Jorah Mormont found her amidst the ashes, surrounded by blackened logs and bits of glowing ember and the burnt bones of man and woman and stallion. She was naked, covered with soot, her clothes turned to ash, her beautiful hair all crisped away…yet she was unhurt._

_The cream-and-gold dragon was suckling at her left breast, the green-and-bronze at the right. Her arms cradled them close. The black-and-scarlet beast was draped across her shoulders, its long sinuous neck coiled under her chin. When it saw Jorah, it raised its head and looked at him with eyes as red as coals._

_Wordless the knight fell to his knees. The men of her khas came up behind him. Jhogo was the first to lay his arakh at her feet. “Blood of my blood,” he murmured, pushing his face to the smoking earth. The others followed and soon the entire khal came before, ready to serve._

_As Ashley Targaryen rose to her feet, her black **hissed** , pale smoke venting from its mouth and nostrils. The other two pulled away from her breasts and added their voices to the call, translucent wings unfolding and stirring the air, and for the first time in hundreds of years, the night came alive with the music of dragons._

Ashley drifted back into the presence as she continued to look out to her khal. Her gaze landed by the stream where a golden head was faced down. Her breath quickened. _It cannot be_. She turned, face emotionless to Ser Jorah. “I am heading further down the stream,” she spoke as she stood from her seat. She signaled to her handmaids that their services were not needed as she walked away from the high bench. The closer she was to the girl, the more her heart beat quickened. She was glad she had left the dragons behind with Ser Jorah and Jhogo. Her tensed limbs would heighten their tension and scare the girl. She slowed as she approached the girl who seemed far away from there, her hands working methodically through the silks she was working on. The girl stopped suddenly as she felt a presence near her. She raised her head to view the person who had come to her. Ashley gazed into blue eyes for the first time outside of her dreams.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own South of Nowhere nor do I own any right to 'A Song of Ice and Fire' or their characters. This is just a story with a mix blend of established characters and others I've inserted inside.

“Do I know you?” Ashley asked quietly.

After her immediate panic at the other girl’s sudden approach, Spencer took a breath before answering. “No…” Spencer cleared her throat “No you don’t. I’m one of Ser Jorah hand maids.”

“He has never mentioned that to me. Yet you seem familiar. Are you sure we have not met?” Ashley questioned again.

“Yes,” was Spencer’s response. She could not believe what had just happened. She should have been more aware of her surroundings. Ser Jorah had commanded her to never interact with others who were not of his immediate personnel. Now here she was facing this girl who already seemed fairly suspicious of Spencer’s presence there.

“You are not Dothraki,” Ashley stated. “Where are you from?"

“One of the free cities,” Spencer answered. One little lie would not hurt anyone and no one could know of her true identity, especially here.

Ashley studied the girl in front of her. She did not give much away with her answers. _I should question Mormont about this one, there’s something she is hiding_. Her eyes though, they filtered in and out of Ashley’s conscious. She knew those eyes but for them to be a reality was not a possibility. No one thought dragons existed anymore either, she countered to herself. Slowly taking in the girl’s appearance , Ashley could not hide the appraisal in her eyes. _She is beautiful_.

Spencer tensed under the gaze of the other girl. She wanted to withdraw within herself, just to escape that gaze. She could feel her face flushing and hoped that the other girl would not see that on her fair skin. Clearing her throat she bent over again to continue with her washing, knowing full well that the other girl had not taken her eyes of her. She hoped that she would lose interest and walk away.

Ashley saw the girl retreat within herself and decided to let her be for the mean time. She walked a little further down and sat down on the bank of the river they had set up camp at. She pushed those haunting blue eyes out of her mind and began to think through her plans again. It would be a long road, one she did not want to lose many of her people on but she had no choice. It was her birthright. Nicholas was right. The only thing he had been correct on. The difference was that she would rule differently from Nicholas’ plans and doctrines. She hoped she would be a good queen. She sighed and took a deep breath. The sound of the river and the women working along it, lulling her into a semblance of calm. The men could hardly be heard as they were either sleeping of their weariness or fighting it out.

Spencer kept her head down as she worked even harder than before. As if her memories did not plague her enough she now had to contend with her dreams. Her fantasies of something that could not, no _would_ not, happen. Her eyes kept drifting to their intended target. A dark haired, bronzed figure with her head tipped to the sky as her feet dangled into the water. _Stop. You know you cannot afford to make friends. Your old life is over and it is time you let it go._ Spencer’s eyes noticed the girl stand up after a time and head back towards the camp. She hoped that the girl would face her again but at the same time she hoped that she would be left alone with her thoughts.

“I shall see you around I suspect,” Ashley stated as she left Spencer by the river.

Stepping into her tent Spencer laid her bundle down and stepped wearily towards her bed. She was worn out from her various duties and avoiding the Dothraki men. She shuddered at that. Those men looked at her like she was their next conquest. It scared Spencer and she moved quickly whenever she was confronted with any of them.

“Good day?”

Spencer jumped. She had not seen the person with her in the tent. “Ser Jorah. I did not expect to see you so soon.”

“I decided I should stop by and see how you are living with these new arrangements in your life. I hear you have been making friends.”

“No. I don’t think I have. I don’t speak to anyone so that opportunity will never arise.”

“What about the girl at the river?”

“She came to me, Ser. I did not expect her to deem myself worthy of her conversation.”

“Do you know who she is?” Ser Jorah asked as he stepped closer to Spencer.

“No. Just some hand maid I suspect.”

“She is the Ashley Targaryen. Your queen and the queen of the Dothraki,” Ser Jorah wiped his face with a cloth. “Did you tell her anything that might have been suspicious? Did you reveal anything about your true identity?”

“No…I-I did not know that she was who you say she is. Even then, I did not reveal myself. I know what would happen if I did.”

“Good,” Ser Jorah placed an arm on her shoulder “I promised you I would get you back to your family safely and I will. Trust me when I say it is better for all if you remain unknown and for those in Westeros to think you are dead.”

“Yes, Ser,” Spencer responded quietly.

“Get some rest. I hear we shall be moving soon.” Ser Jorah exited the tent, leaving Spencer to try and numb her thoughts as she struggled for sleep to take her.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own South of Nowhere nor do I own any right to 'A Song of Ice and Fire' or their characters. This is just a story with a mix blend of established characters and others I've inserted inside.

Across the still blue water came the slow steady beat of drums and the soft swish of oars from the galleys. The great cog groaned in their wake, the heavy lines stretched taunt between. Balerion’s sails hung limp, drooping forlorn from the masts. Yet even so, as she stood upon the forecastle watching her dragons chase each other across a cloudless blue sky, Ashley Targaryen was as happy as she could ever remember being.

The narrow sea was often stormy, and Ashley had crossed it half a hundred times as a girl, running from one Free City to the next half a step ahead of the Usurper’s hired knives. She loved the sea. She liked the sharp salty smell of the air, and the vastness of horizons bounded only by a vault of azure sky above. It made her feel small, but free as well. She liked everything that concerned the sea, the sailors and their songs and stories, the dolphins that swam along the Balerion sometimes and the flying fish she glimpsed now and then, all captured her attention. Once on a voyage to Braavos, as she’d watched the crew wrestle down a great green sail in a rising gale, she had even thought how fine it would be to be a sailor. But when she told her brother, Nicholas had twisted her hair until she cried. “You are the blood of the dragon,” he had screamed at her. “A _dragon_ , not some smelly fish.”

 _He was a fool about that, and so much else,_ Ashley thought. _If he had been wiser and more patient, it would be him sailing west to take the throne that was his by rights._ Nicholas had been stupid and vicious, she had come to realize, yet sometimes she missed him all the same. Not the cruel weak man he had become by the end, but the brother who told her tales of the Seven Kingdoms, and talked of how much better their lives would be once he claimed his crown.

The captain appeared at her elbow. “Would that this Balerion could soar as her namesake did, Your Grace,” he said in bastard Valyrian heavily flavored with accents of Pentos. “Then we should not need to row, nor tow, nor pray for wind.”

“Just so, Captain,” she answered with a smile, pleased to have won the man over. Captain Groleo was an old Pentoshi like his master, Illyrio Mopatis, and he had been nervous as a maiden about carrying three dragons on his ship. Half a hundred buckets of sea water still hung from the gunwales, in case of fires. At first Groleo had wanted the dragons caged and Ashley had consented to put his fears at ease, but their misery was so palpable that’s she soon changed her mind and insisted they be freed.

Even Captain Groleo was glad of that, now. There had been one small fire, easily extinguished; against that, Balerion suddenly seemed to have far fewer rats than she’d had before, when she sailed under the name Saduleon. And her crew, once as fearful as they were curious, had begun to take a furious pride in “their” dragons. Every man of them, from captain to cook’s boy, loved to watch the three fly…though none so much as Ashley. _They are my children,_ she told herself, _and if the maegi spoke truly, they are the only children I am ever likely to have._

Ashley glanced to her left. A eunuch was climbing through the hold, nimble for all his size. She had now been joined by Ser Jorah and Arstan Whitebeard, a squire of Strong Belwas the eunuch, who had saved her from a manticore previously. “Strong Belwas is hungry,” the eunuch shouted. “Whitebeard! You will bring food for Strong Belwas!”

“You may go,” Ashley told the squire. He bowed and moved off to tend to the needs of the man he served.

Ser Jorah watched with a frown on his blunt honest face. Mormont was big and burly, strong jawed with thick shoulders. Not a handsome man by any means, but as true a friend as Ashley had ever known. “You will be wise to take that old man’s words well salted,” he told her when Whitebeard was out of earshot.

“A queen must listen to all Ser Jorah,” she reminded him. “The highborn and the low, the strong and the weak. One voice may speak falsely, but in many there is always truth to be found.”

“Hear my voice then, Your Grace,” the exile said. “This Arstan Whitebeard is playing you false. He is too old to be a squire, and too well spoken to be serving that oaf of a eunuch.”

“I have heard your words Ser Jorah,” Ashley replied quietly. “I have made my decision regarding Whitebeard and until proven otherwise, he is to be trusted.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Ser Jorah answered tersely. He bowed to Ashley and took his leave.

Ashley sighed and took to watching her dragons in the sky. Viserion’s creamy scales flashed in the sunlight as he flew alongside and passed the green and bronzed Rhaegar. Drogon was flying as well but could not be seen. _He’ll probably lose himself again,_ thought Ashley. She felt rather than saw another presence watching her beloved creatures. Not wanting to scare the other away, she glanced at the person to place them, and glanced away again before they could spot her furtive looks. Her glances had shaped the person in her mind. The same girl from before now stood enjoying the sea almost as much as she was. She turned and approached the other girl, slowly as not to startle her. “They are beautiful aren’t they?” she began.

Her measures to not surprise the girl did not succeed as the girl jumped at her voice. The blond, once recognizing what had startled her, quickly bowed and kept her body low. “Your Grace,” she uttered quietly in the Common tongue.

“Stand please. I came to talk nothing more,” Ashley stated as the girl slowly rose from her position. “Now, give me an honest opinion on them,” she asked again as she gestured to the dragons in the sky.

“They are, Khaleesi.” Spencer answered, still keeping her posture tense and hunched in deference.

“Don’t be afraid. As I said, I just want to talk. There are not many girls my age on this ship or in the khal. Besides, you speak the Common tongue as well, another reason for me to speak to you.” Ashley said. _Aside from my inexplicable attraction towards you,_ Ashley mused. “Has Ser Jorah been treating you well? He does not seem the man who would know how to look after a girl.”

“Ser Mormont has been gracious to me Khaleesi. But he treats me no different from his other handmaids,” Spencer responded.

Ashley remained silent. She needed to find a way to assure the other girl that she could be comfortable around her. She was the Khaleesi so must were fearful or quiet around her but she would reach this girl, she had to. They continued to watch the sky and feel the breeze pick up again. The sailors greeted the wind with shouts of excitement as it meant their toil could end. Ashley noticed that Spencer had made to go. “This is the second time we have spoken and yet I still do not know your name.”

“I…I had thought that Ser Mormont would have told you by now,” Spencer stuttered out.

“No he has not because I did not ask him. I would rather know from you,” Ashley responded with a smile.

“Lysa, Khaleesi. Lysa Petyr,” Spencer stated.

“Lysa,” Ashley said as she felt the name on her tongue. “Well Lysa I should probably let you return to your chores before Ser Jorah comes to find you. Come to my cabin later. I have not heard anything from Pentos or the Seven Kingdoms from another’s perspective. One who isn’t a soldier I mean.”

“Yes, Khaleesi. Thank you.” Spencer answered. She bowed to Ashley and left in a hurry.

Ashley watched her leave. _Lysa Petyr,_ she thought.

Ashley sat cross-legged on her bunk in the captain’s cabin, feeding her dragons – “Even upon the sea,” Groleo had said, so graciously, “queens take precedence over captains” – a sharp knock came upon the door. Irri had been sleeping at the foot of her bunk, it was too narrow for three, so Jhiqui shared the featherbed with her. The handmaid roused at the knock and went to the door. Ashley pulled up a coverlet and tucked it in under her arms. She was naked, and had not expected a caller at this hour once she assumed that Lysa had been prevented by one thing or the other. “Come,” she said when she saw Ser Jorah standing outside her door, beneath a swaying lantern.

The exile knight ducked his head as he entered. “Your Grace. I am sorry to disturb your sleep.”

“I was not sleeping, ser. Come and watch.” She took a chunk of salted pork out of the bowl in her lap and held it up for her dragons to see. She had planned to show Lysa the dragons and let her feed them if she wished but Lysa had not appeared. She still did not know why she had been compelled to show Lysa this or even invite her to her cabin. “Drogon,” Ashley said softly, “ _dracarys._ ” And she tossed the pork in the air.

Drogon moved quicker than a striking cobra and flame roared from his mouth, searing the meat before it began to fall. As his sharp teeth snapped shut around it, Rhaegar’s head darted close to steal the prize from his brother’s jaws, but Drogon swallowed and screamed, and the smaller dragon hissed in frustration.

“Stop that Rhaegar,” Ashley said in annoyance, giving his head a swat. “You had the last one. I’ll give no greedy dragons.” She smiled at Ser Jorah. “I won’t need to char their meat over a brazier any longer.”

The dragons had grown in size but Ashley could not ride them yet. Rhaegar and Viserion were the size of small dogs, Drogon only a little larger, and any dog would have out-weighed them; they were all wings, neck and tail, lighter than they looked.

“So I see. _Dracarys?_ ”

All three dragons turned at the command and Viserion let loose with a blast of pale gold flame that made Ser Jorah take a hasty step backward. Ashley giggled. “Be careful with that word, ser, or they’re likely to singe your beard off. It means ‘dragonfire’ in High Valyrian. I wanted to choose a command that no one was likely to utter by chance.”

Mormont nodded. “Your Grace,” he said, “I wonder if I might have a few private words?”

“Off course. Irri, leave us for a bit.” She put a hand on Jhiqui’s bare shoulder and shook the other handmaid awake. “You as well, sweetling. Ser Jorah needs to talk to me.”

“I have a plan to put to you, Your Grace.” Ser Jorah stated as he sat on the bed where Ashley had beckoned him to sit.

“What plan? Tell me.”

“Illyrio wants you to return to Pentos, under his roof. Let us see how loyal Illyrio’s men are to you. Command Groleo to change course for Slaver’s Bay.”

Ashley was not certain of this plan. Everything she had heard of these flesh markets were dire and frightening. Meereen and Astapor in particular. “What is there for me in Slaver’s Bay?”

“An army,” said Ser Jorah. “In Astapor you can buy Unsullied.”

“The slaves in the spiked bronze hats?” Ashley had seen Unsullied guards in the Free Cities, posted at the gates of magisters, archons and dynasts. “Why should I want Unsullied? They don’t even ride horses and most of them are unfit to be soldiers.”

“The Unsullied you may have seen in Pentos and Myr were household guards thus their plumpness. To judge all Unsullied by those would be like judging all squires by Arstan Whitebeard, Your Grace. The Unsullied were the ones who chased the Dothraki from Qohor after its own had deserted her in the tale of the Three Thousand of Qohor.”

 _There is wisdom in this,_ Ashley thought, _but…_ “How am I to buy a thousand slave soldiers? All I have of value is the crown the Tourmaline Brotherhood gave me when we took their city.”

“dragons will be as great a wonder in Astapor as they were in Qarth. It may be that the slavers will shower you with gifts, as the Qartheen did. If not…these ships carry more than your Dothraki and their horses. They took on trade goods at Qarth, I’ve been through the holds and seen for myself.”

“Yes,” she decided. “I’ll do it!” Ashley threw back the coverlets and hopped from the bunk. “I’ll see the captain at once, command him to set course Astapor.” She bent over the chest, threw open the lid, and seized the first garment to hand, a pair of loose sandsilk trousers. “Hand me my medallion belt,” she commanded Jorah as she pulled the sandsilk up over her hips. “And my vest -” she started to say, turning.

Ser Jorah slid his arms around her.

“Oh,” was all Ashley had time to say as he pulled her close and pressed his lips down on hers. He smelled of sweat, salt and leather, and the iron studs on his jerkin dug into her naked breasts as he crushed her hard against him. One hand held her by the shoulder while the other slid down her spine to the small of her back.

Ashley was slow to react but when she realized what was happening she pulled away and slapped Ser Jorah. She was shaking and he was holding his cheek, despair on his face. “You…you should not have…” Ashley could not even calm herself enough to form a complete sentence. _How did it come to this_ , she thought. _I feel for him but as a friend nothing more. I think…I think my heart belongs to another now_.

“I should not have waited so long,” he finished for her. “I should have kissed you in Qarth, in Vaes Tolorru. I should have kissed you in the red waste, every night and every day. You were made to be kissed, often and well.” His eyes were on her breasts.

Ashley covered them with her hands, before her nipples could betray how long it had been for her since she was pleasured. “That was not fitting. I am your queen.”

“My queen,” he said, “and the bravest, sweetest, and most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Ashley -”

“ _Your Grace!_ ”

“Your Grace,” he conceded, “ _the dragon has three heads_ , remember? You have wondered at that, ever since you heard it from the warlocks in the House of Dust. Well, here’s your meaning: Balerion, Meraxes and Vhagar, ridden by Aegon, Rhaenys and Visenya. The three-headed dragon of House of Targaryen – three dragons, and _three riders._ ”

“Yes,” said Ashley, “but my brothers are dead.”

“Rhaenys and Visenya were Aegon’s wives. You have no brothers but you can take husbands. And I tell you Ashley, there is no man in all the world that will ever be half so true to you as me.”

A pair of ears had heard all that was needed. The presence behind the door moved away and softly slipped into the night, missing Ashley’s reply.

“That cannot be Ser Jorah. You may have given me your heart but I cannot take it. The warlocks also told me something else that day. To follow my dreams, they would guide me and give me what I most desire,” Ashley stopped to compose herself. “You are not in any dream Jorah,” she finished, a cold haze surrounding her now violet eyes.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own South of Nowhere nor do I own any right to 'A Song of Ice and Fire' or their characters. This is just a story with a mix blend of established characters and others I've inserted inside.

Spencer lay on her bed. Around her, the other handmaids had fallen asleep long ago. Spencer could not.

She had spent the evening contemplating her next move. Her hand did the chores but her mind wandered. The Khaleesi had asked for her. No, had _invited_ her to her cabin. She wasn’t sure whether to be afraid or excited. She was curious, and in the end, the curiosity had won the battle. Once she heard Ser Jorah leave his cabin above her, she had decided to see what the Khaleesi had wanted from her. Various situations rushed through her mind, most were centered on her true identity being unearthed and her immediate death following. Or if not her death then being sold for slavery. Or kept as ransom while being fed on crumbs in the lower cabins where the sailors would leer at her and…she had stopped all her thoughts there.

As she had approached the door which was surprisingly open, she heard the murmur of voices. Believing it to be the Khaleesi and her handmaids, Spencer raised a hand to knock. The low burr of Ser Jorah’s voice had stopped her. She watched through the sliver of the door as he had approached the Khaleesi while she dressed, kissed her and proclaimed his love for her. Spencer’s heart had pained her in such a way when she had heard that declaration. This sensation was so sudden and new that Spencer could feel herself becoming faint, and dared not to be discovered at this very moment. She had turned around and returned to her cabin as quietly as she could, escaping any notice or suspicion. She had then heard Ser Jorah enter his cabin again and pace before laying down to sleep as well.

Spencer did not understand why she felt so different. When she heard Ser Jorah’s proclamation she had understood his reasoning. The Khaleesi had no partner who could provide heirs to her throne. The Targaryen principles proved that she could take more than one husband at a time, three then given the privilege of riding alongside her on the dragons. That had been the Targaryen way for as long as anyone could remember. Ser Jorah’s proposal, for all intents and purposes, was correct. And yet, the mere voicing of this had made Spencer’s stomach turn.

She had not forgotten her dreams. The first time she had seen the Khaleesi as she rode into the khal with Ser Jorah had reminded her. The Khaleesi had been too far away for Spencer to see each feature but she recognized her from the girl in her dreams. Ser Jorah had led her quickly to another direction and Spencer had resigned herself to never gaining the chance to see the Khaleesi again. Then, as the months had gone by, marching and sailing to each of the Free Cities for the Khaleesi to once again gain her throne, Spencer had the chance to observe her again when they had camped by a river and she had been washing the linen. She could barely form a sentence then and she still could not manage to do that now in front of the Khaleesi. That afternoon had been her confirmation. Yet, Spencer had been disheartened. She knew she would never get the chance to know the Khaleesi let alone speak to her without any deference or the company of hundreds between and around them.

The Khaleesi had surprised her again. Today, as she stood watching the dragons she had been fascinated by since the first time she had seen them in the sky, the Khaleesi approached her again and requested her presence in the evening at her cabin. Spencer did not want to appear nervous or frightened, which she had been, but it could not be helped. Her few words in each answer made her appear so. _I sounded as if I never learnt how to speak until a few years ago,_ Spencer berated herself. The invitation had given her hope. She had left the Khaleesi’s presence in almost disbelief. Now she had come back to the real world. Her life had completely changed. She was nothing like her former stature and status had been. She had become another number, with no hope of ever regaining what she had lost. _Let the Gods be with you Kyla_ , was Spencer’s last thought as she drifted into her troubled slumber.

 

In the center of the Plaza of Pride stood a red brick fountain whose waters smelled of brimstone, and in the center of the fountain a monstrous harpy made of hammered bronze. She had a woman’s face, with gilded hair, ivory eyes and pointed ivory teeth. Water gushed yellow from her breasts but in place of arms she had the wings of a bat or a dragon, her legs were the legs of an eagle and behind, she wore a scorpion’s curled and venomous tail. _The harpy of Ghis,_ Ashley thought. _The harpy of Ghis had a thunderbolt in her claws. This is the harpy of Astapor._

“Tell the Westeroi whore to lower her eyes,” the slaver Krazyns mo Nakloz complained to the slave girl who spoke for him. “I deal in meat not metal. The bronze is not for sale. Tell her to look at the soldiers. Even the dim purple eyes of a sunset savage can see how magnificent my creatures are, surely.”

Krazny’s High Valyrian was twisted and thickened by the characteristic growl of Ghis, and flavored here and there with words of slaver argot. Ashley understood everything he said, but she smiled and looked blankly at the slave girl, as if wondering what he might have said.

“The Good Master Kraznys asks, are they not magnificent?” The girl spoke the Common Tongue well for one who had never been to Westeros.

“They might be adequate to my needs,” Ashley answered. It had been Ser Jorah’s suggestion that she speak only Dothraki and the Common Tongue while in Astapor. _Mormont is more clever than he looks_. “I must consider carefully.”

The slaver shrugged. “Tell her to consider quickly there are many other buyers. Only three days past I showed these same Unsullied to a corsair king who hopes to buy them all.”

Ashley knew she would take more than a hundred, if she took any at all. She could hear Arstan’s stick tapping on the ground steadily, showing his displeasure at this business. “Remind your Good Master of who I am before he decides to sell to others.”

Yet her words did not move the plump perfumed slaver. “Tell the whore that if she requires a guide to our sweet city, Krazyns mo Nakloz will gladly serve her…and service her as well, if she is more woman than she looks.”

“Good Master Krazyns would be most pleased to show you Astapor while you ponder Your Grace,” the translator said.

“Tell her how pretty the pyramids are at night,” the slaver growled. “Tell her I will lick the honey off her breasts, or allow her to lick honey off mine if she prefers.”

“Astapor is most beautiful at dusk, Your Grace,” said the slave girl.

“Thank the Good Master for his patient kindness,” Ashley said, “and tell him I will think on all I learned here.”

Ashley turned to leave but stilled when she spotted Spencer in the crowd. Jorah’s kiss had awakened something in her she had not felt for some time. Lying in bed that night, she found herself wondering how it would be to have someone she loved squeezed in beside her in place of her handmaid. Sometimes she would close her eyes and dream of them, but it was never Jorah Mormont she dreamed of; her lover was always younger and more beautiful to behold, though their face remained a shifting shadow. Now, that face morphed more often than not into Spencer’s face. It had scared her the first time. She wad woken up breathing heavily and wild-eyed. As time wore on she welcomed that face each night, looking forward to a day where she could see it in reality than a recurrent dream.

“Ser Jorah who is that girl?” Ashley asked.

“Which one Khaleesi?” Ser Jorah replied, his eyes searching the crowd.

“The one facing us. Fair hair, blue eyes. She seems to be one of your handmaids.”

“Oh…that is Lysa, Your Grace.”

“She has not been with us since the beginning has she? She seems like a Westeroi.” Ashley questioned as she cast her gaze to Ser Jorah’s face.

“ No but she is the daughter of an old servant of my family and he asked that I should take care of her once he passed. Is there a problem?”

“No but I want her to be one of my handmaids from now on.”

“Your Grace?” Ser Jorah asked, confused and worried by this sudden request.

“I have spoken to her before and she seems to be intelligent and disciplined. I need someone like her to talk with from time to time. Send her over as soon as you can.” With that Ashley climbed back onto her horse, leaving Ser Jorah wondering where this request had come from. He took one last glance at Spencer and climbed back onto his own horse as well.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own South of Nowhere nor do I own any right to 'A Song of Ice and Fire' or their characters. This is just a story with a mix blend of established characters and others I've inserted inside.

Spencer watched warily as Ashley rode a little in front of her. Once Ser Jorah had told her of the Khaleesi’s request Spencer had been frightened at first, wondering if this was to be her last day on the earth. However, once she had stood in front of Ashley, her fear had disappeared as Ashley had smiled with peace and a little happiness. Spencer hadn’t forgotten what she had seen that night on the ship but decided not to say anything that could endanger her. Ashley was the Khaleesi after all and she could do as she pleased. Spencer’s wishes, as a handmaid, had no bearing on Ashley and that is how Spencer decided it would remain. She listened as Ashley spoke to the slave girl again to make the trade for the Unsullied. Spencer didn’t know what to make of _them_ , the Unsullied, but she felt as though Ashley knew what needed to be done and nothing would deter her from making things happen for her.

“All?” The slave girl sounded wary. “Your Grace, did this one’s worthless ears mishear you?”

“Your ears heard true,” said Ashley, “I want to buy them all. Tell the Good Masters, if you will.” She had chosen a Qartheen gown today. The deep violet silk brought out the purple of her eyes, hidden most of the time. The cut of it bared a little of her left breast, something Spencer had to keep reminding herself not to stare at. While the Good Masters of Astapor conferred among themselves in low voices, Ashley sipped tart persimmon wine from a tall silver flute. Spencer could not quite make out what they were saying, but she could hear the greed.

Ashley let them argue, sipping the tart persimmon wine and trying to keep her face blank and ignorant. Spencer could see past the expression. She knew that Ashley needed all and would pay whatever price needed to have all the Unsullied in her army. The city had a hundred slave traders, but the eight before them were the greatest. It was Kraznys, who Spencer had come to hate, who finally announced their decision. “Tell her that the eight thousands she shall have, if her gold proves sufficient. And the six centuries, if she wishes. Tell her to come back in a year, and we will sell her another two thousand.”

“In a year I shall be in Westeros,” said Ashley when she had heard the translation. “My need is _now_. The Unsullied are well trained, but even so, many will fall in battle. I shall need the boys as replacements to take up swords as they drop.” She put her wine aside and leaned toward the slave girl. “Tell the Good Masters that I will want even the little ones.”

The girl told them. The answer was still no.

Ashley frowned in annoyance. “Very well. Tell them I will pay double, so long as I get them all.”

“Double?” The fat one in the gold fringe all but drooled.

“This little whore is a fool, truly,” said Krazyns mo Nakloz. “Ask her for triple, I say. She is desperate enough to pay. Ask for ten times the price for every slave, yes.”

“Your pretty crown might buy another century,” said the fat one in Valyrian. “Your crown of the three dragons.”

Ashley waited for the translation. “My crown is not for sale. Nor will I enslave my people, nor sell their goods and horses. But my ships you can have. Three good ships should be worth more than a few paltry eunuchs.”

The fat Grazdan turned to the others. They conferred in low voices again. “Two of the thousands,” the one with the spiked beard said when he turned back. “It is too much but the Good Masters are being generous and your need is great.”

“Give me all,” she said, “and you may have a dragon.”

There was the sound of indrawn breath from Jhiqui who standing beside Spencer. Kraznys smiled at his fellows. “Did I not tell you? Anything, she would give us.”

Spencer stared in shocked disbelief. To this day she would never know what had possessed her then. She went on one knee before Ashley. “ _No_. Your grace, I beg you, win your throne with dragons, not slaves. You must not do this thing -”

Ashley turned to her, a cold gleam in her eye. “ _You_ must not presume to instruct me. Ser Jorah, remove her from my presence.”

Mormont grabbed Spencer roughly, giving her a telling look, and marched her back to her position.

The oldest Grazdan stirred in his seat, and his pearls clacked together softly. “A dragon of our choice,” he said in a thin, hard voice. “The black one is largest and healthiest.”

“His name is Drogon.” She nodded

“All your goods, save your crown and your queenly raiment, which we will allow you to keep. The three ships, and Drogon.”

“Done,” she said, in the Common Tongue.

“Done,” the old Grazdan answered in his thick Valyrian.

“The Unsullied will learn your savage tongue quick enough,” added Kraznys mo Nakloz, when all the arrangements had been made, “but until such time you will need a slave to speak to them. Take this one as our gift to you, a token of a bargain well struck.”

“I shall,” said Ashley.

The slave girl rendered his words to her, and hers to him. If she had feelings about being given for a token, she took care not to let them show.

Once they had left the terrace, Ashley faced Spencer, who was fuming silently near the rest of the handmaids. “Spencer, ride with me. I wish to talk to you.” Rakharo helped Ashley into the litter and she waited for Spencer to come in.

When Spencer was seated in Ashley’s litter she continued to face the floor. Ashley watched her silently before speaking. “Spencer,” she said, “I enjoy your company and listening to what you have to say. You should never be afraid to speak your mind with me…when we are alone. But _never_ question me in front of strangers. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Spencer answered quietly.

“I am not a child. I am a queen,” she told her. “I am also your friend.”

“Can I speak freely?” Spencer asked and continued when Ashley nodded. “Even queens can err Your Grace.” At Ashley’s look, Spencer corrected herself. “Ashley, I apologise. The Astapori have cheated you. A dragon is worth more than any army and they are like your children. Why would you do this?”

“Because you are my friend and I gave you permission to speak freely I will answer your question as far as I choose. Yes, I know those men have cheated me but this trade is not over.” Ashley reached over and placed her hand on Spencer’s hand. “I have not forsaken them for power,” she finished sincerely. “With that display I think you’ve given Drogon even more reason to like you.” Ashley stated as she smiled at Spencer.

“Forgive me for my outburst Ashley.”

“It had already been forgotten.” The two smiled at each other before Ashley continued. “I need to speak to the slave girl. Can you bring her here?”

“Yes, Your…Ashley.”

“And we shall talk later. Once we reach the ships,” Ashley stated.

Spencer smiled again as she left the litter to find the girl who had just joined them. She did not know what Ashley was thinking but now more than ever she knew that Ashley would never part with her dragons, something Spencer was grateful for as she loved the dragons dearly, almost as much as they loved her.

Ashley studied the slave girl sitting meekly in her litter. “Do you have a name, or must you draw a new one every day from some barrel?”

“That is only for Unsullied,” the girl said. Then she realized the question had been asked in High Valyrian. Her eyes went wide. “Oh.”   

“Your name is Oh?”

“No. Your Grace, forgive this one her outburst. Your slave’s name is Missandei, but…”

“Missandei is no longer a slave. I free you from this instant. If you stay with me you will serve as one of my handmaids,” she said as they set off. “I shall keep you by my side to speak for me as you spoke for Kraznys. But you may leave my service whenever you choose, if you have father or mother you would sooner return to.”

“This one will stay,” the girl said. “This one…I…there is no place for me to go. This…I will serve you gladly.”

“I can give you freedom, but not safety,” Ashley warned. “I have a world to cross and wars to fight. You may go hungry. You may grow sick. You may be killed.”

“ _Valar morghulis,_ ” said Missandei, in High Valyrian.

“All men must die,” Ashley agreed, “but not for a long while, we may pray. One last thing. You seem to care for these Unsullied. Why is that?”

“This one does not…I...Your Grace…”

“Tell me.”

The girl lowered her eyes. “Three of them were my brothers once, Your Grace.”

 _Then I hope your brothers are as brave and clever as you_. Ashley leaned back into her pillow, and let the litter bear her onward, back to Balerion to take their rest.

Groleo had argued with the trade of ships until Ashley had reminded him who his queen was. The anger at the demands she had had to give into burned her fear away, for a few hours at least. Afterwards, she called her bloodriders and Ser Jorah to her cabin. They were the only ones she truly trusted in her army.

She meant to sleep afterwards, but an hour of restless tossing in the stuffy confines of the cabin soon convinced her that was hopeless. She moved around the ship, in search of Spencer and found her once again on the deck, embracing the cool air from the sea. She had told Ser Jorah to remain behind when he had begun to follow her. _He is never far. I do not love him though_.

“Khaleesi. You ought to be asleep. You will need your sleep for tomorrow,” Spencer said as she felt Ashley step in beside her.

“Do you remember the story of Eroeh I told you about?” Ashley asked her.

“The Lhazareen girl?”

“They were raping her, but I stopped them and took her under my protection. Only when Drogo was dead, _Mago_ took her back, used her again, and killed her. The others aid it was her fate.”

“I remember,” Spencer said.

“I was alone for a long time before all of this Spencer. All alone but for my brother. I was such a small scared thing. Nicholas should have protected me, but instead he hurt me and scared me worse. He shouldn’t have done that. He wasn’t just my brother, he was my _king_. Why do the gods make kings and queens, if not to protect the ones who can’t protect themselves?”

“Some kings make themselves. Robert did. Aiden now has.”

“He is no true king,” Ashley said scornfully. “He does no justice. Justice…that’s what kings are _for_.”

Spencer did not answer. She faced Ashley, wondering what was going through her mind at this point. She continued to watch her, waiting for a sign of what to say or do next.

“Am I doing the right thing Spencer?” Ashley finally asked. “Look at Eroeh. I thought I had saved her, given her a better life. And yet, she suffered the same fate I had tried to protect her from.”

“Don’t place that blame on yourself.” Spencer answered quickly. “You did what you thought was right at the time. You could not have known that Mago and the others would turn on you after Drogo’s death. You could not have known that they would take her either. So you cannot place that on yourself.”

“Sometimes I wonder if this is the right path for me,” Ashley sighed. “All I bring is blood and destruction, nothing good. Is it all worth it in the end?”

“Listen Ashley, I saw what bad kings can do to a land. You know my story. I have seen Westeros now and it needs to change. Aiden and the Lannisters are letting it rot in corruption and greed. You are the only one who can change that.”

“Once those in Westeros hear of my coming they will rally against me. You might end up facing people you grew up with your whole life Spencer. Will you still support me then? When you’re forced to kill them or watch them die, for me.”

Spencer paused at that. The possibility had entered her mind and she knew the day would come when it would happen. She just prayed that when that day would come she could somehow save her family from death. “All I know is that it is time for change. You have chosen your path and I have chosen mine. We just have to believe that the consequences will be worth all the bloodshed.”

Ashley faced the sea before turning to face Spencer again. “Thank you.”

“You can always talk to me Ash.” Spencer flushed at her mistake. “Forgive me, I meant Ashley.”

“Ash is fine. My mother used to call me that,” Ashley replied wistfully. She sent a small smile Spencer’s way before continuing. “This is why I insisted you join me. I can always rely on you to speak freely and honestly with me.”

 _I truly am sorry for lying to you Ash,_ Spencer thought painfully. “I’m glad I could be of service.”

They continued to gaze at the sea and sky until exhaustion finally came over them. They headed to their various cabins but not before smiling at each other, waiting impatiently for the next day so they could see each other again.

All of the trade goods had been placed in their respective piles the next day. There was nothing left to discuss and the Unsullied had been prepared, ready for Ashley to take on. Her Dothraki had mounted their horses once more, and Ashley said, “This was all we could carry. The rest awaits you on the ships. And you have the ships themselves. So all that remains is…”

“…the dragon,” finished the Grazdan with the spiked beard, who spoke the Common Tongue so thickly.

Spencer unfastened one end of the chain, and handed it down to her. She looked up to see Ashley giving her a small smirk. _What are you thinking Ashley?_ When Ashley gave a yank, the black dragon raised his head, hissing, and unfolded wings of night and scarlet. Kraznys mo Nakloz smiled broadly as their shadow fell across him.

Ashley handed him the end of Drogon’s chain and he presented her with the whip. “The harpy’s fingers,” Kraznys named the whip. Ashley turned the whip in her hand. _Such a light thing, to bear such weight_. “ Is it done then? Do they belong to me?”

“It is done,” he agreed, giving the chain a sharp pull to bring Drogon down from the litter.

Ashley mounted her silver. She could feel her heart thumping in her chest. _Was this what my brother, Rhaegar, would have done?_ She stood in her stirrups and raised the whip above her head for all the Unsullied to see. “ _IT IS DONE!_ ” she cried at the top of her lungs. “ _YOU ARE MINE!_ ” She gave the mare heels and galloped along the first rank.“ _YOU ARE THE DRAGON’S NOW! YOU ARE BOUGHT AND PAID FOR! IT IS DONE! IT IS DONE!_ ”

She glimpsed old Grazdan turn his grey head sharply. _He hears me speak Valyrian_. The other slavers were not listening. They crowded around Kraznys and the dragon, shouting advice. Though the Astapori yanked, Drogon would not budge off the litter. Smoke rose from his open jaws, and his long neck curled and straightened as he snapped at the slaver’s face.

 _It is time to cross the Trident,_ Ashley thought, as she wheeled her silver and rode back. Her bloodriders moved in close around her. She turned to Spencer. “Climb onto the horse beside you and stay near me.” Spencer mounted her assigned horse with confusion showing on her face. Ashley faced her handmaids as well. “Stay near me all of you. Stay inside the circle of bloodriders.” She then turned to the slaver. “You are in difficulty.”

“He will not come,” Kraznys said.

“There is a reason. A dragon is no slave.” And Ashley swept the lash down as hard as she could across the slaver’s face. Kraznys screamed and staggered back. The blood running down his cheeks into his perfumed beard. “Drogon,” she sang out loudly, sweetly, all her fear forgotten. “ _Dracarys_.”

The black dragon spread his wings and roared.

A swirling dark flame took Kraznys full in the face. His eyes melted and the oil in his hair and beard burst into fire. For an instant the slaver wore a burning crown twice as tall as his head. Then the Plaza of Punishment blew apart in blood and chaos. The Good Masters were shrieking, stumbling and shoving each other aside in their haste to escape the chaos. Drogon flew almost lazily at Kraznys and gave the slaver another taste of fire, as Irri and Jhiqui unchained Viserion and Rhaegal. Suddenly there were three dragons in the air. When Ashley turned to look, a third of Astapor’s proud demon-horned warriors were fighting to stay atop of their terrified horses, and another third were fleeing in a blaze of shiny copper. One man kept his saddle long enough to draw a sword, but Spencer’s whip coiled around his neck and cut off his shout. Another lost his hand to Rakharo’s sword. Aggo sat calmly notching arrows to his bowstring and sending them into the crowd. Strong Belwas had his sword out as well, and he spun it as he charged.

“Spears!” Ashley heard one Astapori shout. It was Grazdan, old Grazdan in his tokar heavy with pearls. “Unsullied! Defend us, stop them, defend your masters! Spears! Swords!”

When Rakharo put an arrow through his mouth, the slaves holding his sedan chair broke and ran, dumping him unceremoniously on the ground. The old man crawled to the first rank of eunuchs, his blood pooling beneath him. The Unsullied did not so much as look down to watch him die. Rank on rank, they stood.

And did not move. _The gods have heard my prayer,_ Ashley mused.

“Unsullied!” Ashley galloped before them. Spencer watched as her dark braid flew behind her, her bell chiming with every stride. “Slay the Good Masters, slay the soldiers, slay every man who wears a tokar or holds a whip, but harm no children under twelve and strike the chains off every slave you see.” She raised the harpy’s fingers in the air…and then she flung the whip aside. She glanced at Spencer, who seemed to be watching in awe, thanked her silently, before facing the Unsullied again. “ _Freedom!_ ” she sang out. “ _Dracarys! Dracarys!”_

“ _Dracarys!_ ” they shouted back, the sweetest word she’d ever heard. “ _Dracarys! Dracarys!_ ” And all around them slavers ran and sobbed and begged and died, and the dusty air was filled with spears and fire. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own South of Nowhere nor do I own any right to 'A Song of Ice and Fire' or their characters. This is just a story with a mix blend of established characters and others I've inserted inside.

Meereen was as large as Astapor and Yunkai combined. Like the cities before her, she was built of bricks of many colours. Her walls were high and in better repair, studded with bastions and anchored by defensive towers at every angle. Behind them could be seen the top of the Great Pyramid, a monstorous thing eight hundred feet tall with a towering bronze harpy at its top.

“The harpy is a craven thing,” Daario Naharis said when he saw it. “She has a woman’s heart and a chicken’s legs. Small wonder her sons hide behind their walls.”

But their hero did not hide. He rode out of the city gates, armored and mounted upon a white charger. The lance he bore was fourteen feet long and his hair was shaped and teased and lacquered into two great curling ram’s horns. Back and forth he rode beneath the walls, challenging the besiegers to send a champion forth to meet him in single combat.

Her bloodriders were in such a fever to go meet him that they almost came to blows. “Blood of my blood,” Ashley told them, “your place is here by me. Ignore him he will soon be gone.” Aggo, Jhogo and Rakharo were brave warriors but they were young and too valuable to risk. They kept her khalasar together and were her best scouts too. Ser Jorah and Arstan Whitebeard were arguing over Ashley’s decision to keep her bloodriders back. “I have heard enough.” Ashley had enough troubles plaguing her. Her people were starving during the march. The Great Masters of Meereen had withdrawn before Ashley’s advance, harvesting all they could and burning the rest. Scorched fields and poisoned wells had greeted her at every turn. Worst of all, they had nailed a slave child up on every milepost along the coast road from Yunkai, nailed them up still living with their entrails hanging out and their arms always pointing the way to Meereen. Spencer, having ridden a little ahead of Ashley, had seen this and asked Daario to order the children be taken down before Ashley saw them, but Ashley had countermanded him as soon as she was told. “I _will_ see them,” she said. “I will see every one, count them and look upon their faces. And I will remember.” By the time they came to Meereen sitting beside her river, the count had stood at one hundred and sixty-three. _I will have this city,_ Ashley pledged to herself once more.

Ashley thought back quickly to when she had told Spencer to remain behind at the ships with the other handmaids. _She was not happy,_ Ashley mused. However she had been firm. She did not want Spencer to be in another situation such as that at Astapor even though Spencer had proven herself quick with a sword. _The less blood she sees around me, maybe the less horror she will see in me_.

Ashley watched the hero, Oznak zo Pahl, dismount his white charger, undo his robes, pull out his manhood, and direct a stream of urine in the general direction of the olive grove where she sat with her khalasar. He was still pissing when Daario Naharis rode up, sword in hand. “Shall I cut that off for you and stuff it down his mouth, Your Grace?” His tooth shone gold amidst the blue of his forked beard.

“It’s his city I want not his manhood.” She was growing angry, however. _If I could ignore this any longer, my own people will think me weak._

High on the walls of Meereen, the jeers had grown louder, and now hundreds of defenders were taking their lead from the hero and pissing down through the ramparts to show their contempt for the besiegers. _They are pissing on slaves, to show how little they fear us,_ she thought. _They will remember my name after this_.

“This challenge must be met,” Artstan said.

“It will be.” Ashley said, as the hero tucked his penis away again. “Tell Strong Belwas I have need of him.”

“Why that one, Khaleesi?” Rakharo demanded of her as Strong Belwas lumbered from the grove toward Oznak zo Pahl. “He is fat and stupid.”

“Strong Belwas was a slave here in the fighting pits. If this highborn Oznak should fall to such the Great Masters will be shamed, while if he wins…well, it is a poor victory for on so noble, one that Meereen can take no pride in.” And unlike Ser Jorah, Daario, Brown Ben and her three bloodriders, the eunuch did not lead troops, plan battles or give her counsel. _He does nothing but eat and boast and bellow at Arstan._ Belwas was the man she could spare most easily. And it was time she learned what sort of man Magister Illyrio had sent her.

Once Belwas was in front of the hero, Oznak zo Pahl lowered his lance and charged. Belwas stopped with his legs spread wide. In one hand was his small round shield, in the other the curved sword Artsan had tended to with such care. “We should have given him chainmail,” Ashley said, suddenly anxious.

“Mail would only slow him,” said Ser Jorah. “They wear no armor in the fighting pits. It’s blood the crowds come to see.”

Belwas stood still as the horse charged at him. _He’s going to be impaled,_ Ashley thought…as the eunuch spun sideways. As quick as a blink of an eye, the horseman wheeled again and raised his lance. “What is he doing?” Ashley demanded.

“Giving the mob a show,” Ser Jorah said. “That lance is too long. All Belwas needs to do is to avoid the point. Instead of trying to split him so prettily, the fool should ride right over him.”

Oznak zo Pahl charged a third time, and now Ashley could see plainly that he was riding _past_ Belwas, the way a Westeroi knight might ride at an opponent in a tilt, rather than _at_ him, like a Dothraki riding down a foe.

Meereen’s hero tried to anticipate Belwas’ movement this time, and swung his lance sideways at the very last second, but Belwas had anticipated this as well, and this time he dropped down instead of spinning sideways. The lance passed harmlessly over his head. And suddenly Belwas was rolling and bringing his word around in an arc. They heard the charger scream as the blade bit into his legs, and then the horse was falling, the hero tumbling form his saddle.

A sudden silence swept along the brick parapets of Meereen. Now it has Ashley’s people screaming and cheering.

Oznak leapt clear of his horse and drew is sword. Steel sang against steel, too fast for Ashley to follow the blows. It could not have been a dozen heartbeats before Belwas’ chest was awash with blood from a slice below his chest, and Oznak zo Pahl had a sword planted right between his ram’s horns. The eunuch wrenched the blade loose and parted the hero’s head from his body in three savage blows. He held it up high for the Meereenese to see, then flung it toward the city gates and let it bounce and roll across the sand.

“So much for the hero of Meereen,” said Daario, laughing.

“A victory with no meaning,” Ser Jorah continued. “We will not win Meereen by killing its defenders one at time.”

“No,” Ashley agreed, “but I am pleased we killed at least one.” Ashley stepped down to inspect Belwas’ wound and once she had a healer taking care of him, she then lead her captains and commanders inside her pavilion for their council.

“I must have this city,” she told them, sitting crosslegged on a pile of cushions, her dragons all about her. Irri and Jhiqui poured wine.

“I’ve had a look at the landward walls, and I see no point of weaknesses.” Said Ser Jorah Mormont. “Given time, we might be able to mine beneath a tower and make a breach, but what do we eat while we’re digging? Our stores are all but exhausted.”

“No weaknesses in the _landward_ walls?” said Ashley. “Does that mean we might attack from the river or the sea?”

“With three ships?  Unless the wall along the river is crumbling that’s just a better way to die.”

“What about siege towers? Nicholas once told tales of such, I know they can be made.”

“From wood, Your Grace. The slavers have burnt every tree within twenty leagues of here.” Ser Jorah said.

“Did you see them bronze heads above the gates?” asked Brown Ben Plumm. “Rows of harpy heads with open mouths? The Meereenese can squirt boiling oil out of their mouths and cook your axemen where they stand.”

Ashley sighed “Perhaps we can starve the city out.”

Ser Jorah looked unhappy. “We’ll starve long before they do, Your Grace.”

“Then what do you advise, Ser Jorah?”

“You will not like it.”

“I would hear it all the same.”

“As you wish. I say, let this city be. You cannot free every slave in the world, Khaleesi. Your war is in Westeros.”

“I have not forgotten Westeros.” Ashley dreamed of it some nights, the fabled land that she had never seen. Sometimes Spencer would be with her. “If I let Meereen’s old brick walls defeat me so easily, though, how will I ever take the great stone castles of Westeros?”

“As Aegon did,” Ser Jorah said. “With fire. By the time we reach the Seven Kingdoms, your dragons will be grown. And we will have all the things we lack now, siege towers and trebuchets as well…you stopped at Astapor to buy an army, not to start a war. Save your army for the Seven Kingdoms, my queen. Leave Meereen to the Meereenese and march west for Pentos.”

“Defeated?” said Ashley, bristling.

“When cowards hide behind walls, it is they who are defeated Khaleesi,” Ko Jhogo said.

“Ser Jorah, you say we have no food left. If I march west, how can I feed my freedmen?” Ashley asked.

“You can’t. I am sorry, Khaleesi. They must feed themselves or starve. Many and more will die along the march, that is hard, yes, but there is no way to save them. We need to put this scorched earth well behind us.”

Ashley had left a trail of corpses behind her when she crossed the red waste. It was a sight she never meant to see again. “No,” she said. “I will not march my people off to die. There must be some way into this city.”

“I know a way.” Brown Ben Plumm stroked his speckled grey-and-white beard. “Sewers.”

“Sewers? What do you mean?”

“Great brick sewers empty into the Skahazadhan, carrying the city’s waste. There might be a way in for a few. That was how I escaped Meereen, after Scarb lost his head.” Brown Ben made a face. “The smell has never left me. I dream of it some nights.”

Ser Jorah looked dubious. “Easier to go out than in, it would seem to me. The sewers empty into the river you say? That would mean the mouths are right below the walls.”

“And closed with iron gates.” Brown Ben admitted, “though some have rusted through, else I would have drowned in shit. Once inside it is a long foul climb in pitch dark through a maze of brick.”

Daario Naharis laughed. “if any man were fool enough to try this, every slaver in Meereen would smell them the moment they emerged.”

Brown Ben shrugged “Her grace asked if there was a way in, so I told her…but Ben Plumm isn’t going down in them sewers again. If there’s others want to try it, though, they’re welcome.”

Aggo, Jhogo and Grey Worm all tried to speak at once but Ashley raised her hand for silence. “These sewers do not sound promising. I must think on this some more. Return to your duties.” Ashley lay back on her cushions when her last captain left. “If you were grown,” she said to Drogon, scratching him between the horns, “I’d fly you over the walls and melt that harpy down to slag.” But it would be years before her dragons were large enough to ride. _And when they are, who shall ride them? The dragon has three heads, but I only have one._ She thought of Lysa. _I see her look at me sometimes…_

To be sure, she was just as guilty. Ashley found herself stealing looks at the blonde when they all gathered, and sometimes at night she remembered the way her teeth would sparkle when she smiled. That, and her eyes. _Her bright blue eyes_. On the road from Yunkai, Spencer had brought her a flower or a sprig of some plant every evening when they met…to help her learn the land, she said. _She tried to spare me the sight of the dead children too_. She should not have done that, but she meant it kindly. And Spencer made her laugh, something which no one else did.

Ashley tried to imagine what it would be like if she allowed Spencer to kiss her, the way Jorah had kissed her on the ship. The thought was exciting and disturbing, both at once. _It is too great a risk. She does not tell me all._ Ashley had noticed they way Spencer seemed to avoid any mention of her family or where she was from. Even Ser Jorah became as if he was ignorant of Ashley’s curiosity when she asked him about Spencer. _Could I love Lysa? Even through all that? What would it mean, if I took her into my bed? Would that make her one of the heads of the dragon?_ Ser Jorah would be angry, she knew, but he could never be what she wanted, or needed.

But these were foolish thoughts. She had a city to take, and dreaming of kisses and a handmaid’s blue eyes would not help her breach the walls of Meereen. _I am the blood of the dragon,_ Ashley reminded herself. “Missandei,” she called, “have my silver saddled.”

The little scribe bowed. “As Your Grace commands. Shall I call your bloodriders as well?”

“We’ll take Arstan. I do not mean to leave the camps,” answered Ashley, still distracted by her thoughts. 

They had left their horses near where her pavilion had been raised. As she approached her silver she noticed it was already saddled. Turning to her scribe, Ashley asked “Who…”

“I did, Your Grace,” Spencer stated as she stepped away from her own horse.

“Spencer? What…I ordered you to stay at the ships. Why are you here?” Ashley asked, feeling her temper rise with Spencer disobedience. “Missandei, get Arstan. I will be waiting for him here.” She faced Spencer again, for an answer.

“I know, Your Grace,” Spencer began.

“Ashley.” Ashley interrupted.

“Ashley,” Spencer nodded at the correction. “I am sorry I disobeyed you but did you think I would be fine with waiting for you at the ships? Not knowing whether you are taken care of or if these slavers have gotten their desires and killed you?”

“I am not alone,” Ashley replied.

“No you’re not but people die in wars surrounded by others do they not?”

Ashley sighed. Spencer really did have a strong will, one that irritated Ashley at times, but aroused her at other times. “You have to stop disobeying me. Soon people will begin to question my judgment if you forever disobey my commands.”

“Forgive me,” Spencer said.

Ashley smiled. “All is forgiven but never again. I do not want to seem as if I favour you above all others, even if I do. Come Arstan has arrived.” 


End file.
